Detour
by CSINut214andScullyAsTrinity
Summary: When the planets finally aligned, Sara almost missed it. (GSR) Completed
1. I

**CSINut214 Author's Note**: _Leslie (ScullyAsTrinity) and I got such a kick out of cowriting the last story that we decided to try doing a series together. Unlike the last one, though, we're going to alternate writing every other chapter. She gave me a sneak peek at chapter 2, and I love it. Can't wait to see what happens next. See you in chapter 3..._

* * *

When the planets finally aligned, Sara almost missed it. 

To be sure, she'd spent a lifetime trying to convince herself that there _were_ no signs. She'd rolled her eyes when her parents squinted at tea leaves or claimed to sense spectral auras. They saw omens everywhere, and so she forced herself to see them nowhere.

But damned if today didn't make her reconsider.

First, there was the homeless guy outside the police station. When he saw her, his face lit up.

"Change is coming, pretty lady! Keep your eyes open!"

Of course, he _always_ yelled that when he saw her. And in those five years, had anything ever really changed? She shook her head at him, looking up at the darkening sky when she felt a drop land on her cheek.

The rain pounded against the hood of her car as she drove through morning traffic after shift. Hundreds of people, all heading to work. They'd probably left their homes after kissing their spouses, hugging their children, patting their dogs. Sara had had a plant once, for about five minutes. Things tended to die around her.

Between the driving rain and the blaring radio, she was lucky she heard the beeping that indicated a low gas gauge. There was a Sunoco three blocks over. The urge to flip on the siren and slice her way through the traffic was strong, but she waited. She was good at waiting. After twenty minutes, she made it to the gas station.

Muttering under her breath about the price of gasoline, she jumped out of the car. The rain was coming down so hard it hurt, like thousands of pinpricks across her skin. But she tilted her head up in response. Sometimes pain was the easiest reminder that she was still alive.

The woman pumping gas on the other side of the station was laughing as the rain soaked her thoroughly. Sara stared at her, unabashed – the chances being noticed from fifty feet away were slim. Holding out her hand to catch the drops, the woman called into her car. Whatever response she got made her throw back her head in laughter.

Sara leaned against the hood of the car, watching wistfully. This woman had it all – good looks, a sense of humor, and someone in the passenger seat. The gas pump clicked behind her, and she removed the nozzle, the woman doing the same with her own car. Sara glanced up just in time to watch the woman stumble on the curb and fall. Before she could react, the woman's passenger door opened, and a man rushed out to help her up. She grinned at him and pulled his head down to meet hers. They kissed in the rain, mindless of the cold, mindless of Sara's sharp intake of breath, mindless of how he'd claimed he'd never been interested in beauty before he'd met Sara. This woman had it all.

Jumping back into her car, Sara pulled out of the gas station, swiping at her cheeks angrily to rid them of raindrops and teardrops. She was driving, but to where? If she went back to her apartment, she'd wallow, and she was sick of wallowing. Truth be told, she was sick of all of it.

So she drove to the only place she could think to go, taking Grissom's empty parking spot bitterly. The lab was a different place in the daytime. There was the same frenetic energy, but without the bleariness of the night shift.

"Sara!"

She turned to see a short black man with a lopsided grin heading her way. "Hey, Sam," she said with genuine warmth. "Giving out autographs?"

"Yeah, yeah," he said, shaking his head and chuckling. Sam Evans had become a reluctant media darling in past weeks after solving a high-profile serial rapist case. Reporters loved to draw a link between his love for his two-month-old daughter and the drive that he'd shown in finding justice for the victims. "You're soaked, Sara. I have a spare shirt in my locker, if you'd like to borrow it."

"Actually, I'd appreciate that," she confessed, and they fell into step together, making their way to the locker room. "So, I heard the FBI approached you."

"Yup," he replied simply.

"Any interest?" There'd been a time when she'd considered working for the Bureau herself. Surely they didn't have any entomologists on staff there. No bearded, bow-legged men who entered rooms with their fingers splayed out as if they were skimming invisible tabletops.

Sam shook his head. "Not really. Meg and I like it here. We've made a home in Vegas, and we're in a good school district for when Faith gets older."

They entered the locker room, holding the door for an exiting member of day shift. Sam pulled a collared shirt out of his locker, tossing it to Sara. She ducked into a shower stall to change.

"Ecklie must be loving all this publicity," she called.

"Sure is," he agreed. "He said if there was anything he could do to make my life easier, that I should let him know. And there actually is something that I want. But I don't think he could give it to me."

Sara came out of the stall, the men's shirt looking huge on her small frame. "What's that?"

"I want to work on the night shift," he said. "Meg's been itching to get back to the law office… She'd just made partner when she got pregnant. So if she worked days and I worked nights, we'd always have coverage for Faith. But there's no openings on the night shift, and I couldn't just leave days in the lurch anyway."

She maintained a neutral expression as the wheels turned in her head. "So tell me… what's Kingston like? As a supervisor, I mean?"

"Peter? He's awesome. Great guy. Knows everything about forensics, but doesn't make you feel stupid if you don't. Everyone on days gets along so well because of him."

She could go into work and leave before Grissom arrived. She could drive in morning traffic, having just woken up, like a normal person. She could hit a bar after work, pick up a curly-haired stranger and ask him to spend the night. She could… but _could_ and _would_ were worlds apart.

Turning to leave, she remembered the tinkle of the woman's laughter, the way that Grissom's hands had grasped her elbows to steady her while they kissed.

"Hey, Sam… you got a second?"

When she was twelve, she'd told her mother coldly that the only signs she believed in were the ones on the side of the road. Stop, Yield, Slippery When Wet.

Change is coming, pretty lady. Keep your eyes open.


	2. II

**Leslie's A/N: All I have to say is... bring onnnnn the angst! Mahahah!**

**

* * *

**Sara Sidle found one thing singularly amusing when turning over her newfound plan in her head: When she informed her supervisor that she was switching to days, he wouldn't be able to use some veiled excuse to get her to stay with him. Excuses, another thing that she'd put in her past, she decided, and added it to the mental list of things she'd chosen to leave behind. 

So far, she had: the night, dark clothing, and Grissom. They were all neatly listed, underlined in red pen, patiently waiting at the back of her mind.

The decision to switch to days had been easy to come by. She and Sam had both agreed to discuss is with their supervisors the next shift and Sam had gotten her the necessary papers. It had been three days since she had posed the idea to Sam and finally it was time to actually go through with it.

They traded information and agreed to meet up for coffee in a few days after things had settled. Sam had assured her that things would go smoothly. Apparently, Peter was eager to work with her. He'd had wonderful things to say about her, Sam had mentioned earlier on the phone, and seemed thrilled at the prospect of working with her. That made this whole debacle all the more karmic.

Karmic... karma...

"The lab needs you here." She could just picture him fumbling over the words again, thinking quickly, wondering if he was giving too much of himself away in one sentence. The thought nearly spurred a smile to appear on her thin lips. No, there was time for smiling later, after she'd finished all of this required paperwork.

But again, "The lab needs you here." She saw him saying it to her, over and over, so very clearly. Just as clearly, she envisioned herself retaliating, brash words spilling from her lips. "I know the lab needs me here, Grissom, that's why I'm not leaving the lab." She'd be clipped and confident, omitting the 'bastard' she felt like directing towards him. 'Not leaving the lab, but sure as hell leaving you.'

'Enough about Gil Grissom,' she reasoned solidly and took a long pull on her beer. Her fingers wrapped around the pen with renewed force and she trained her eyes on the next question. Blue, the pen was blue, much like his eyes...

'Past promotions,' 'previous solve rate,' 'last qualification score;' they all flew by, facts filled in by her nearly illegible chicken scratch.

She felt that this change would be more cathartic than moving miles away. Sara had never really wanted to leave the Vegas lab in the first place. It was exceptional in many aspects and she'd made close friends there. Close friends weren't something she came by easily, and she was glad she could hold onto Nick and Greg and Warrick while still having a change of scenery.

Cliches swam in her head like tiny adversaries, little jackhammers pounding away at her newfound wall of resolve. 'Distance makes the heart grow fonder...' Luckily, she truly doubted that would happen. But then again, hadn't it happened before? Didn't she come to Vegas to see just how fond her heart had grown? Sara pondered how long it would take for the longstanding clench over her heart to subside, allowing her to live life a little freer.

Even when faced with the facts she'd been unable to let go. You don't choose who you fall in love with and Sara knew that all too well. She decided that she would be the master of falling out of love and her soon-to-be newfound position at the lab would help to spur that. She was sure of it... she would _make_ sure of it.

Forgetting would have to begin now, she decided, and swept her unruly mess into a little pile of papers, neat and orderly. A nice little metaphor for her new life.

She wondered how long it would take her to become accustomed to using the past tense when referring to her time on nightshift. Not 'work with' but 'worked with.' The thought of the new use of -ed made her slightly uneasy but she moved past it with determination and finished filling out the obligatory paperwork.

Night shift would like Sam. He was gentle, intelligent and dedicated. Dedicated to a point that they wouldn't miss her constant presence. Truly, the change would be beneficial to everyone. She wouldn't have to see Sofia anymore, a bonus for her because Sofia was just another Catherine and she knew in the long run they'd never get along. And Grissom... well Sara was sure he would be happy that she was simply... somewhere else.

Everything would be so much easier for everyone.

Something inside her gave way and she felt lighter, slightly more whole. Static wasn't a word she liked anymore, and she was relieved that she was truly making progress.

And when she washed her face that evening, she felt as if she were doing away with all of the ambiguous and stressful grit that she'd allowed to build up over the years. It felt utterly fantastic. When she looked in the mirror she was encountered with a newer, fresher face. A face that was invigorated, the face of a person who'd just stumbled across a new supply of purpose and was ready to use it.

She set her alarm clock with a vague feeling of excitement. It _would_ be exciting, she promised herself. Not only would the look on her soon-to-be ex-supervisor's face satisfy her in unimaginable ways, she'd get to rise blindly to start a brand new, fresh day. A new life of sorts. It felt amazing to be able to embrace something again.

This was going to be so much simpler.

Fresh pajamas in place, Sara made her way to the bedroom and thought of now being able to say 'good night' when she went to sleep as opposed to the utterly awkward 'good morning.' But she said good morning to Vegas one last time and crawled into her bed.

Sara would no longer have to wake in the night and amble off to face the emotionally draining vampire that was Gil Grissom.

Yes, this was going to be so much easier, so amazingly simple. But as Sara Sidle slipped to sleep, she wondered why she kept having to reiterate that point and why still continued to feel so incredibly torn.


	3. III

**CSINut214's A/N**:_Um... warning, angst ahead. Angstier than any angst I've ever angsted. Angst you very much. I'll stop now._

* * *

Grissom dressed quietly, careful not to wake the blonde draped across his bed. She murmured a little in her sleep. Grabbing his keys off the counter, he watched her for a moment, then left, frowning. 

He'd met Allison three months ago. She'd called him at the lab, eager to discuss the finer points of forensic entomology with him. Grissom had heard of her, of course. Allison Freeman's books were always on the best-seller lists. She wrote about forensic science, and pretty accurately. So when she'd told him she wanted her newest book to be about how insects can help solve crimes… well, he'd bitten.

The attraction was there right away. She was pretty and laughed at his lame jokes. When she shook his hand after their meeting, she leaned forward to kiss his cheek. An hour later she e-mailed him, asking him out for a date.

It was easier than he'd expected. Allison didn't have a problem with him working nights, nor did she seem to mind the long hours. She brought her laptop wherever she went, and worked on her book when he wasn't around. She was cheerful and sweet, and he liked her a lot. The age difference wasn't too bad, she was about nine years younger than him, maybe five years older than Sara.

He groaned, trying to concentrate on the road ahead of him. It always came back to Sara Sidle. That beautiful smile, that smoky voice. Brains of a genius and eyes of a model. In bed, he kissed Allison from head to toe, then went to sleep and dreamed of Sara.

It wasn't fair to her, and he knew he'd have to end it soon, before she got attached. God knew he wouldn't.

Shift wouldn't start for another two hours, but Grissom was behind on paperwork, as always. He closed the door to his office. It muted the noise from the hallway, and he'd made it through half the stack when the knock sounded at his door.

It was Sara. He didn't even have to ask. His heart had sped up, and his palms had grown sweaty. No matter where he was, his body was always alert to her presence.

"Come on in."

Sara entered with an unreadable expression on her face, and shut the door behind her. He felt his lungs constrict as she sat down across from him, eyes steely with resolve.

"I just wanted to tell you this in person," she said, handing him a file. He took it and stared at her for a moment before opening it. And there it was. Application for Shift Transfer. She wanted to leave him.

He forced himself to read through it. "You want to move to days?"

She nodded.

"Are they offering you a promotion?"

"No."

It was him, then. She was tired of his possessiveness, his barely concealed obsession.

He felt a migraine coming on. "Well… I can't really approve this until we're able to find you a suitable replacement. And that could take a while." Forever, as long as he was concerned.

"Already taken care of," she said smoothly. "Sam Evans wants to trade shifts. He's more than qualified."

And he was. Evans was the golden boy of the day shift, a rare combination of hard worker and team player. Any supervisor would be lucky to get him. Grissom wanted to vomit.

"Well, I…" Love you, need you, can't go a day without seeing you, that's why I page you on your days off, don't you know that? "I… don't…"

"Ecklie and Kingston have both signed off on it," she offered. "Ecklie thinks it's a great idea."

The right amount of pressure at the right angle, and he was sure he could snap Ecklie's neck with his bare hands.

"Why do you… why?"

Sara shook her head. "I need a life, Grissom. Everyone else on night shift manages to have one, but not me."

He didn't like where this is going, but he asked anyway. "What do you mean?"

She ticked off each member on her fingers. "Greg's out with a different woman every week. Sofia… well, I'm sorry, but nobody just happens to gain fifty pounds in nine months, she's _got _to be pregnant. And you've got your blonde with the silver Jaguar." She showed him her palms. "I don't have anyone."

Sweat dripped down his neck, and his mouth was so dry that his tongue stuck to the roof. He'd considered that dating Allison could drain his energy, distract him from his work. Never had he considered that Sara could find out.

And also, he was one of the top investigators in the country, so how on earth had he not realized that Sofia was pregnant? Must have been those slimming lab coats. Plus she tended to sit behind things a lot.

"Grissom."

He blinked at her. Maybe this was a blessing in disguise. If Sara changed shifts, he wouldn't be her supervisor anymore. They could see each other without any negative impact on their careers. He would finally be able to know what that dip in her collarbone tasted like. "Well," he said, fighting the rising elation, "if that's what you want…"

"It is," she stated firmly.

Surely now, _now_ was the time to finally ask her to dinner, to tell her exactly how he felt about her. "You know, we wouldn't be seeing much of each other if we weren't working together," he began.

"I think that's a good thing," she said quietly before he could continue.

Grissom couldn't keep the wounded look out of his eyes. "How can you say that?"

She smiled at him, the mirthless grin that she reserved for moments like these, and the flash of white teeth almost masked the pain. "It hurts, Griss," she admitted, shrugging self-consciously. "And I'm tired of hurting."

"I never meant–"

"I know you didn't. But you did."

His mind raced. "Tell me how to make this better, Sara. Tell me what to do."

"It's easy," she said, her eyes soft. "Let me go."

It was impossible for a heart to beat this quickly, this hard. His ribs were bruised from the pounding. "What if I can't?" His voice broke, and she had the courtesy to look away, a tear running down her cheek.

"Please." It was the closest she'd come to begging, and they both knew it.

Drawing in a shaky breath, he picked up a pen and signed her transfer request, a sob rising in his chest, swirling with fury. He picked up the file to give back to her, but when she extended her arm to take it he dropped it on the desk, capturing her hand in his. He interlocked their fingers, staring at the shape of them as the sob escaped from both their lips.

"Please," she whispered again, and he let her go.


	4. IV

_**Leslie: I'm sorry, a three way call to Jersey and Australia and weird non-existant voices and crazy accents has me all eff-ed up. Pardon me. OH! And VTA is a Vapor Trace Analyzer... just think Warrick in 'Bully For You.'**_

_**

* * *

**_Chinos, she decided, were her new favorite thing. Especially this pair; they hugged all the right places, and flared just a bit at the end. Yes, her credit card might have taken a huge hit, and yes, she'd nearly cleaned out Ann Taylor, but she was overjoyed with her purchases. Something new... 

She was wearing a light pink top with the khakis and when she looked in the mirror, she was so startled that she had to assess her image a few times before accepting the look. The whole 'brand new day' theory that she was putting to the test really seemed to be working out for her.

It wasn't so difficult to do away with the old. It had actually been startlingly simple. She'd boxed up remnants of her old passion, a man she'd never had; she shoved it in the back of her closet and put a new box of shoes in front of it.

She'd even painted her nails, a soft, soft lilac, and when she held out her hand they glinted in the light. Peter Kingston; he took her hand graciously and shook it, a warm smile painted sincerely on his face. "Sara Sidle, pleasure to meet you... again."

Sara shook his hand firmly and recalled the first time they had met. They had consulted on a case with days nearly four years ago and she'd only met him for a few brief moments. He had impressed her with his easy manner, with his charming but crooked smile, with his confident stride. She was a bit shocked that he recalled that day, but smiled warmly in return. "I read the paper you published in the last quarterly, moisture removal from hair and fiber without destroying evidence." Her smile turned a bit coy. "Interesting."

Peter laughed and flashed his strangely alluring grin at her. She quirked a smile back at him and shook her head. "Heard you told off the bossman..."

Sara licked her lips and thought of Grissom. Then she realized what he was referring to. "Oh, yeah. That was... me in rare form I suppose." A shrug accompanied the explanation. Peter flipped his hand at her amusingly.

"Don't think we all haven't thought about it. I'm just too much of a pansy, you see." He stuck a pen behind his ear and rearranged some files on his already incredibly tidy desk.

"Well," Sara said, eyes for a moment on her clamped hands, "I think they'll be hanging onto someone who had a part in perfecting the VTA." Peter met her eyes with mirth and chuckled lightly.

"Yeah, I'm a celebrity," Peter began in jest, steering her towards the break room. His hand was warm on her lower back. Welcome, unthreatening. It didn't make her shake uncontrollably like... "It's true. Now, I'm pretty sure you've met most of days already but..."

He trailed off and gestured before him with a grand sweep of his hand.

And she met the people she was to work with. Sara already knew them all but it didn't hurt to get reacquainted. 'Didn't hurt' she thought as she shook hands and doled out obligatory smiles. They were nice people; they were smart people. They weren't as human as Nick or Greg or, (god-forbid) Grissom, but they were good people and she saw herself working alongside them fluidly. No emotional snags, no breakdowns in the locker room.

Jokes were made and laughs were given and Peter handed out assignments with a smile rather than a frown. It was refreshing, in an odd way, and she pushed down feelings of sadness and guilt as she watched her co-worker Morgan pluck their assignment sheet from her new supervisor's hand. His smile and friendly shove sent the woman into a fit of laughter.

They all exited the break room in an excited manner, each to their respective crime scenes. Morgan caught up with her outside of trace, snapping what she could only guess was Nicorette loudly. Sara remembered those days all too well and for some reason was anxious to see if the other woman would hold out.

"I heard you got reprimanded by douchy McDouchster awhile back," Morgan had said as she retrieved her distressed denim jacket from her locker. Sara raised a brow and clipped the grin that was attempting to spread across her face.

"Yeah that was uh-"

Morgan laughed and slammed her locker shut. "No explanation needed, that man is so tight he'll implode on himself." The woman smiled and motioned to the door with her chin. "Someone needed to take him down a peg, just that no one has the balls." It seemed that everyone had something against Ecklie.

For the first time in nearly a week Sara laughed long and hard. She fell in step next to the short blonde, feeling an odd sense of something close to closure. "No one has the balls?"

Morgan pulled a cigarette out of a crumpled pack once they were outside and lit up. "Yeah," she blew a plume of smoke out between her lips. "We like our jobs too much." A wink followed her explanation and she unlocked the Denail.

Sara frowned a bit. "And I don't?"

The woman shook her head and licked her lips, the nicotine burnng away between tense fingers. "No, it's not that. You could get in anywhere with your credentials. Fuck it, work for the feds." She tossed her half-smoked cigarette out the window and started up the Denali.

Sara blew a cleansing breath between her lips and rested a hand on her palm, looking out the window. She wouldn't empathize with the victim today. She wouldn't bother getting upset over something she could not change. Objectiveness was her objective that evening and she seemed to conquer it easily, cataloguing evidence with detachment and precision.

She brought the evidence back into trace as Morgan hugged the building, having one last smoke before going inside. Sara almost wished that she had never quit.

She passed Greg on the way there, and he gave her a goofy look; she smiled back, held up her evidence and moved on as if nothing was different. Sofia offered her a pleasant 'hello' and a smile and disappeared into the break room. When she saw Grissom, he glanced at her but kept moving down the hall, as if she existed but didn't really matter. That was fine. He didn't matter to her. A lie, but she could pretend for the sake of her mental well being. The equivalent of a mental shrug wracked her body and she left for home, a whole person but so lost.

For one brief second, while stopped at a red light she flashed on Morgan's smiling face, how happy she was. She then flashed on Peter, smiling back, shoving her playfully. They seemed so at ease. A team, to be sure, but friends. Friends, easy going, simple... Simple was a wonderful word; two syllables, nothing to hide, just there. A grammatical triumph of sorts.

Sara went home and had a simple dinner, a simple shower. She sat down and enjoyed late night comedy, laughing along with Conan O'Brien, finding the Michael Jackson jokes old but amusing nonetheless. Her bed offered her a little modicum of comfort and as she drifted to sleep she pushed thoughts of the real world from her head, wanting nothing but to muse about carburetors and ice skating.

She dreamt that evening, her mind filled with dark crevices, vestiges of night she had so hastily left behind.

He was bathing her, hands clamping over her shoulders as honey-rich wine rained down over her body. It bubbled and tickled and kissed her skin.

"It's me," he murmured as he drew his fingers through her hair steadily, raking out bits of paper and sand. Work and time, he washed it all from her with loving fingers. "It's me," he uttered again, pulling back the wine to flow into her mouth. It tasted of him, she was sure of it.

She drank from the never-ending jug greedily, bathed in the cool vestiges sluicing over her body. She was naked, wasn't she? No, she couldn't tell. She just knew that she was being touched all over by him, but he, he had his face turned away. Cold feet, so, so very cold. Ice.

Why do you turn away Grissom? You're kissing me everywhere, but you turn away? Tell me you want me, please? Something, anything but- Why do you turn away?

"Because you left me, Sara." A kiss on the crown of her head and the jug fell and broke. He wanted her to know it wasn't her fault, but she couldn't hear him over the rush in her ears. Blood surrounded her, and she was drowning, floating away, trapped between the desert of Las Vegas and the coastline of California, the tide sucking her down, and he was there on the shore, watching her drown, turning away...

Drinking a glass of wine as red as her blood.


	5. V

**CSINut214's A/N: Yeah, I don't have anything witty to say. Sorry man.**

* * *

Sara couldn't believe this scenario had never crossed her mind. She stood over the body, gritting her teeth as Grissom arrived at the scene. 

A body with severed limbs, covered with insects. Days baking in the desert sun had made identifying time of death nearly impossible. Weren't they lucky, Peter mused, that they had a forensic entomologist on call at all times?

Lucky wasn't the word Sara would have used, but she smiled indulgently anyway. From the three weeks that she had worked with him, she'd found Peter to be an ideal boss. His patient, easygoing personality was a welcome change from brooding Gil Grissom. He was in his late fifties, but had the energy of a teenager. He rubbed his hands together with anticipation when Grissom's Denali pulled up.

"Hey, it's the Bugmobile," he grinned, waving Grissom over.

She stared at the mutilated body, not acknowledging his arrival, and wondered if he'd purposely worn sunglasses to mask his eyes. Grissom could keep the rest of his face completely passive, but his eyes always gave him away.

He crouched next to the body and stared at it appraisingly. "Some of these shouldn't be here," he said, peering at the insects. "Not on a body this fresh."

Peter frowned. "What does that mean?"

"Possible cross-contamination," Sara supplied. "Means there may be another body. I'll look around."

Taking slow, careful strides, she studied the brush and ground around them, checking for disturbances in the soil patten. About a hundred yards away, she found it.

"Some kind of animal carcass," she yelled. "Definitely not human. Looks like it's been here a while."

"Bag it," Grissom called, and for a moment it felt like old times.

Sara gingerly placed the carcass in an evidence bag, wrinkling her nose at the smell.

"I could have done that."

She looked up to see Peter standing over her with a sheepish expression. "What do you mean?"

"Well, Morgan told me you're a vegetarian," he said, squatting down next to her. "So you probably don't enjoy touching dead animals. I could have bagged that for you."

She bit back a smile. "I processed three severed limbs over there, how is this different?"

"Just is," he shrugged, and she frowned, because it was.

Peter picked up the bagged animal with a gloved hand. "A mole, maybe?"

"Kind of big to be a mole. Might be a gopher."

He chuckled to himself, murmuring, "Gopher it, Pete…"

"What?" She scraped at the soil, gathering the dirt that had surrounded the carcass.

"Are you free to have dinner with me after work?"

If she kept her eyes on the ground, if her fingers kept moving deftly, if she didn't raise an eyebrow, maybe he wouldn't notice the fluttering sound of her heart in her chest. "Isn't that… frowned upon?"

"Not that I know of," Peter said easily. "I checked the employee manual, there's no written rule. And we're professionals. You know what they say… What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas… um, what happens off-duty in Vegas I mean… though that's not as catchy… More accurate, though…"

She laughed at him as she worked. Round and round and round, she swept the dirt in tighter circles until there was a small, neat pile, and the only thing left to do was scoop it into the canister. "So… dinner."

"Dinner," he repeated, and she could hear the amusement in his voice. And something else… a flirting tone that made her throat ache.

"You're on," she said, turning to look at him with a wide smile. As soon as she turned, she saw him. Grissom was standing a few feet behind Peter, his fingers clenching and unclenching. Her face fell as she took in his expression, so stormy even his sunglasses couldn't hide the hurt and anger.

"I'm going to get back to the lab," Grissom told them tersely. "I… the timeline needs to be… I'll be at the lab." He turned quickly and was gone.

* * *

Greg had taken to calling the new team "Triple-S" – Sofia, Sam, and Sanders. They all seemed to think it was terribly cute and clever, so Grissom didn't bother pointing out that Sara had been an S too. 

From Sam's very first night, things had been different. He and Sofia had previously worked together on days, and trusted each other implicitly. Greg followed him around asking questions, and Sam mentored the younger CSI without an ounce of patronization. They solved cases more efficiently and had even taken to socializing together after work.

Grissom watched them joke and poke each other as he handed out assignments, conscious of his outsider status. They hurried down the hallway, anxious to get to work, and he wondered whether his heart was still in this job.

* * *

Sara lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling and replaying the evening in her head. 

He'd opened the car door for her and led her into the restaurant with his hand on the small of her back. He'd told her she looked lovely… radiant, even.

He hadn't ignored her, or made her feel small.

They'd talked about their favorite sports teams, the different places they'd lived. He'd demanded that she explain the difference between a gazebo and a pagoda, and she'd laughed wine out her nose.

He hadn't quoted philosophers or poets. He hadn't brought up the forensics journals that he knew she read, and he hadn't talked about the average wingspan of the male cicada.

After their date, he'd walked her to her door, kissing her cheek sweetly and telling her what a fine evening he'd had.

He hadn't pinned her to the wall, making her heart race and her knees weak. He hadn't caused her body to thrum with waves of heat.

Sara curled up on her side, fighting back tears. Peter had been attentive and charming. He'd been everything she'd wanted, so why did her chest feel so tight?

She couldn't be alone right now, she felt it all the way down to her toes. But there was no one to call. Morgan was nice enough, but she didn't know her well enough to cry in front of her. Her former colleagues had barely kept in touch with her after the shift changes.

She knew who she _should_ call, of course. There'd only been one person in her whole lifetime who'd been willing to be there at her lowest points without judging her. The phone seemed to dial on its own accord, and when she heard him answer the tears spilled over.

"Sara? Are you okay?" His voice was soft and thick, like the jars of honey her mom had kept in the fridge. She cradled the phone in her palm, weeping as she listened to his murmurs of concern.

"I—" A sob shook her body. "Am I interrupting something?"

"Sara," he admonished, and she cried harder. "Talk to me. What's going on? Are you hurt?"

It did hurt. Raw, visceral pain, pumping through her heart and shooting through her veins. "I just… I didn't know it'd be this hard."

He sighed. "Yeah… I know what you mean."

They sat in silence for several minutes, listening to the faint sound of Sara's sniffles. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, glancing at her alarm clock.

"Oh, god, you're at work, aren't you."

"Lifting prints off a convenience store counter as we speak."

"Grissom, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have called you at work."

"If it had been a problem, I would have told you so," he said calmly. "I'm processing the scene alone, and PD is outside. It's just you and me."

Her tears started up again. "Can you just… stay on the phone till I fall asleep?"

"That's my plan."

"This doesn't change anything."

"Okay."

She listened to the sound of his kit opening and closing. "What're you doing now?" she asked, growing drowsy.

"Well, the clerk swept the floors at midnight, and the robbery happened shortly afterwards. So I'm checking for footprints."

Her eyelids were heavy, and she felt herself sinking into the bed. "Any luck?"

"Doesn't seem to be. But you know that recent article in the Journal of Forensic Advancements?"

She hummed in response. Of course she knew that article.

"I'm going to try that technique… luckily, the store has a supply of contact paper and plastic wrap… I'll replace it, of course… So first, I'll spread a thin layer of glue over the paper…" His voice flowed out of the receiver, covering her like a warm down blanket, and she slept. She didn't dream.


	6. VI

_**Yay for introspection! Yay for pretty Sara! Yay all around! **_

There was no contact between the two of them the next day, and neither had bothered to call in the morning to see how the other was doing. It would have been too awkward. She'd awoken with a sense of lost dignity and felt such despair in the pit of her stomach that she was unable to swallow anything but warm tea.

When she had been in the shower, Peter had called, her answering machine picking up, his voice lilting to her ears, mingling with the spray of the water, making her somehow even more desolate. There was no reason to be sad or upset about the date, she had reasoned. It had gone wonderfully, he'd been attentive and lovely and everything that she needed at that moment in her life. He... was perfect, considering the alternative.

It wasn't fair to categorize Peter as 'the man who wasn't Grissom' but that was what she kept doing.

Night closed in around her as she stepped out of CSI headquarters after shift and almost immediately searched for his car in the lot. It wasn't there, and she found herself gulping in the cool air to steady herself. It was like they'd had a one-night stand, or worse, even, because it was all emotions, all soul, and more was at stake. Perhaps he was out with his blonde writer, wining and dining her back into his bed.

She worked with Morgan like nothing was new... and nothing, as it seemed, really was. Everything, in reality, was new. Everything: her outlook on life, her take on love, her diet, for the love of god. But that didn't matter, it was the night, and she was... looking for something.

It felt as if she were a coward retreating as she climbed into her car. She didn't know how to fix herself, fix her soul. But as she drove home she realized that she shouldn't _have_ to fix anything, she shouldn't _have_ to change. She liked herself just the way she was. It was him that she thought needed the changing.

'Another thing that will never work, Sara. You can't change a man,' she thought as she sped down the strip.

He could hurt her, damn it. Yeah he could hurt her but she could hurt him too, she was sure of it.

She had plans tonight, and she needed to focus on those plans. Sara toyed with the idea of buying something, of actually going out shopping. There was a cocktail dress collecting dust at the back of her closet and she figured that it would do just fine. After all, the money she saved from buying a new dress could be put to good use purchasing angsty chick flicks and Ben and Jerry's for _after_ her date.

'Date,' she chuckled at the thought. A real fucking date... not one she had been waiting on for five years and change...

Instead of stopping at an expensive boutique, she stopped off at Blockbuster and bought a few used titles, heart heavier as she walked back to her car. 'Diane Keaton, Keanu Reeves and Phish Food will be my goal for the night,' she swore to herself as she pulled into her parking space.

A headache bloomed between her eyes as she entered her apartment and dropped the bag of movies down on her coffee table. Preparing for a date was such a hassle; one had to dress appropriately and primp. Ugh, she hated primping. It was so tiresome, and it took planning, meticulous hands applying makeup and setting hair...

Sara sighed and made her way into her bedroom closet, searching inside for the black silk dress that hadn't be worn in, god, years.

Between smoothing her dress and tending to her hair she was afraid she would forget his face, and it made her cry, but only a bit. Could she ever forget his beautiful, flawed face, his soft, demanding voice? If she let Peter in that far, would she forget Grissom? No, there was no forgetting him; there was pretending to forget him and pretending to move on, but there was no forgetting him in her heart.

She deserved to have fun and be happy. Jazz, she decided, was a fun thing. She'd never gone to a jazz club (the closest she'd come to that was attending one of Warrick's shows) but she was looking forward to it nonetheless.

She imagined herself in Peter's arms, somehow on the dance floor, a place she would never dare to go. She saw him whispering in her ear, kissing her, attending to her desires. Desires that had long since laid dormant, called anew by her will to be normal and full.

The screech of the hair dryer screamed to her, smoothing out her consistently unruly hair. The incessant noise did nothing to quell her thoughts when she bent over to fix the underside of her hair.

In her head, she was drinking with Peter, yes, sharing drinks. She was whispering sly suggestions into his ear, making him want her, if he didn't already. Oh yes, asking, delicately if he would take her home.

And he would, he would take her home and offer her wine and then water and then a soft place to rest her head. And then, it was a test if she would choose to accept his pillow or not. If she would accept his bedroom or his sofa. Considering his bed, she saw him atop her, mumbling romantic obscenities, wanting it to mean something although it never would. God, it would feel so good, so new and fresh and alive but it would mean nothing.

She imagined the sky in December, walking with Grissom, somewhere north. She grasped his hand and it was so, so cold but she refused to let go. A lonesome reminder of what it meant to be alive.

And yet, her mind drifted to Peter over her, loving her in some way that she couldn't grasp. Peter, who wanted her as she was without altering a thing about himself or her. 'Love. Love, none of that here. Just a man...'

But the rain would fall around her and Grissom. He'd know her deepest fears and soothe them with a strange balm of his hand. They'd kiss and she'd go insane and love him more and more and more until she was gone.

Sara knew she wasn't beautiful, wasn't captivating, wasn't enthralling. But she was something; she heard it in Grissom's voice, she saw it in his eyes. She was something more than she thought she was and she was torn between wanting to find out what that was and wanting to leave it all behind.

Peter was an amazing man; he made her feel like she was important, intriguing. He made her feel mysterious, made her want to duck behind her wine glass and blush. In a few short weeks he'd managed to open her eyes to the spectacular and sensual.

Peter caressing her cheek, making her feel like a woman again, as she so deserved. Her hips, they would sway against his, and yet not press. Yes, a casual sway, something akin to friendship searching for something more. Sensuality in his grace, making her want to move with him, just move, a sort of dance that wasn't really.

She envisioned the lights being cut, something down to a low purple, a deep blue, something that would allow her to slip into the delicate realm of fantasy.

She could nearly feel it... His touch, as warm as it was in those fleeting moments, didn't feel anything like she'd anticpated. It wasn't what she was looking for, Peter's touch, but damned if she couldn't admit that it was good. It was velvet and chocolate... but somehow old and crusted. Him, him, him, who?

Even thinking about him, thinking about Grissom's feather-light touches over her body made her want to crumple...or weep...or both. A simple kiss to her cheek would do her in and it made her so very sad to know that she was so strong and yet so weak. 'No, not weak, just so very in love, that's all.'

Sara thought, 'In love, love doesn't matter. Such a colloquial term.'

He'd changed her life so slowly, so subtly. And she, well she could find solace in the memory of him smiling at her, or touching her lower back while escorting her through a doorway. 'It's not meant to be... not, even if it _is_ meant to be, you can't _change him_...'

And yet, he'd touched her, listened to her, the desolation that she felt when she thought of her father, of her mother. When she thought of the family she barely had. She saw herself grasping his hand and falling into his embrace and sleeping, dreaming of the things they could be.

She doubted she'd ever just feel all right because Peter was beside her, handing her a bindle.

Even 'friends' would have suited her. Just friends with Grissom. Though she was in love with him, just friends... to hear him admit that... would have been enough. 'Such a lie, a lie baby doll. A change is coming, do you remember that?'

A lovely press into her skin, a simple burn into her arm. It slid into a fantasy of him sliding into her, welcome and warm. Pressing inside of her and she pressing back, all Sara could think was, 'Fuck you Grissom, other people are allowed to want me... right? Right?'

Mind's eye again... she was in her own world. The world was deep purple; he, Grissom, grabbed her wrists and pasted her to the wall. "I've been looking for you all night." He said it and even as he did, even as he spoke, his lips attached to Sara's neck. "Where _were_ you? I've been here all night..." Her hips rolled to his and she had to think, really think if the roll was a rebuke or an acceptance.

And yes, she'd responded. "You never gave me a chance to forget." All in her head... she never deserved the run around...

Her cell phone trilled and she was cut from her thoughts. It was Peter, kindly asking her if she was ready, if it was inappropriate to present her with flowers since they weren't technically 'steady'. Sara laughed... she liked that. She liked that Peter made her laugh so very easily. It was simple to be just a woman with him.

There would be drinks, she was sure of that. And yes, there would be dinner. Wine would be ordered; it would be good wine, she knew it.

Sara glanced over her appearance in the mirror, simply because she thought she had to. Damn, if Grissom saw her now...

She was perfect, a flame of flamboyance. As insanely uncomfortable as she was in the slick dress, she was ready to allow her inhibitions to slip through her hands. She was willing to slake her insecurities and press forward with all that she was unsure of.

He'd pulled up across the street from her building, the anticipation nearly searing a hole through his skull. Yet, he, the one with the Ph.D... the one with the experience... he, the one who could easily quote Shakespeare and turn the words into a slippery innuendo could form nothing of a rational argument.

He was ripped from his arrogant thoughts by a wisp of silk, caught from the corner of his eye.

She was wearing some sort of modest dress, gorgeous and flowing. It was perfect for dancing, or dining or... anything. The dress was perfect. But dancing, yes it stuck with Grissom as he watched her enter the car. 'Sara, she would never dance...'

Dancing or something equally as personal, something where he could touch her and get away with it.

God, he wanted to hold her in his arms, just to feel how her body warmed the silk. That silk would look better on his floor, Grissom reasoned, and her naked body would be perfect and at home in his bed.


	7. VII

**CSINut214's A/N:**_ I love how Leslie tries to keep me from getting fluffy in my chapters. Tries… and fails._

* * *

He and Greg were walking away from the crime scene when his cell phone rang. Checking the caller ID, Grissom stopped abruptly. 

"You know, I'm actually going to do one more sweep of the perimeter," he said hurriedly, backing away. "You go on ahead, I'll catch a ride back with PD."

Greg stared after him for a moment, bewildered, then shrugged and climbed in the driver's seat of the Denali.

Ducking behind the house, Grissom answered the phone. "Sara?"

She was crying again, and his heart clenched at the sound. He walked over to the porch, sitting down and sighing.

"Are you busy?" Her voice wavered, and he bit his lip, wondering exactly how much of her pride she'd had to swallow to call him two nights in a row.

"Nope," he replied lightly. "Wouldn't have answered if that were the case."

Sara didn't respond, except to take some shaky breaths.

"Hey, did I ever tell you about the cat I had when I lived in LA?"

It took her several seconds to manage a "no."

"Got him from the local shelter. He was an orange tabby with two extra digits on both front paws. I named him Pillar."

Grissom waited for her to get it, and she didn't disappoint him. There was a touch of humor in her voice when she said "Tell me it wasn't short for Caterpillar."

"Come on, it's the perfect name," he chuckled. "Want me to tell you about him?"

"Yeah," she said, suddenly sounding very young. "Will you hang up when you know I'm asleep? I don't want to use up all my minutes."

"Sure thing," he said, settling against the porch railing. "Well, Pillar's extra digits made him an ideal hunter. He'd even catch birds, right out of the sky. I put a bell around his neck, but he learned to walk with his chest tucked in, so that the bell was nestled into the fur and wouldn't chime…"

It didn't happen every night. Sometimes she'd go as long as two days without calling, and he'd start to worry, checking his phone every hour or so. But then she'd need him again, and he'd drop whatever he was doing to talk to her.

Grissom wasn't stupid. He knew she was still seeing Peter. Hell, the whole lab knew. It was infuriating to see how no one seemed to care; if anything, they were happy for the couple. He'd amble into the break room to grab a bottled water, and the lab techs would be talking dreamily about the dozen roses Peter had put in her locker, or the chocolates, or whatever else he was bribing her with lately.

But it wasn't working, because she still needed to hear Grissom's breath in her ear to fall asleep.

Once she called when he was interrogating a suspect. He'd caught hell from Ecklie for leaving the room, but it was worth it, because that night when he cracked a joke she laughed drowsily. A soft noise, but he heard it, and was surprised to find his eyes were moist.

Over the course of several weeks, he told her about the tomato patch he'd kept as a child, and his battle to keep the bugs away without killing them. He told her about the first body he ever processed. The time he'd had to give a lecture and had forgotten all his notes and slides, and had to draw pictures of cockroaches on the blackboard. He even told her how his mother's deafness had made his father leave, and that night he'd cried right along with her.

Sometimes their shifts overlapped, and they'd see each other in the hallways. Sara would blush and look at her feet, and he'd study whatever file was in his hands at the moment. They wouldn't make eye contact, and they wouldn't make small talk. But it was okay, really, it was, because she needed him at night. She needed him, and he would be there, and she kept calling.

Until, suddenly, she didn't.

Two days went by, then three, then eight, and she wasn't calling. She wasn't calling, and suddenly he was staring at her in the halls, noticing how well-rested she looked. Noticing how Peter would touch the small of her back as they walked together, how she'd shoot him an amused, affectionate look, and she looked so _goddamned well-rested_.

Grissom wouldn't go back to her apartment to spy on her. He wouldn't, he just wouldn't. And yet he did, and there they were, leaving to go on another date, Peter's arm slung around her shoulders.

At work, he became distracted, agitated. He checked his cell phone a hundred times a night, to make sure the batteries were working. If it rang, he'd fumble for it wildly. But it was Brass, or Greg, or David.

He'd had a story all picked out for the next time she called, too. He'd tell her about his physics teacher with the halitosis, and she'd laugh, god, she'd laugh. She'd laugh, if only she would call.

In the mornings after his shift, he couldn't fall asleep. He'd think about the space between her two front teeth and wonder how many millimeters it measured. He'd remember the first time he'd seen her, the way that she'd twisted a lock of curly hair around her pencil. One morning he'd even picked up his phone to call her. What would she do if he called in tears, wanting _her _to talk till _he _fell asleep?

He tried reading the manuscript that Allison had sent over, but that just made him feel worse. She'd been so gracious when he'd ended it with her. _I knew your heart wasn't in it_, she'd said simply, smiling and rubbing his arm.

No, Grissom's heart was somewhere else, lying in bed and sleeping easy, _Peter's_ breath in her ear, _Peter's_ hand on her hip.

Finally, he'd had enough. It was midnight when he called the lab, telling Judy tersely that he was sick. He didn't try to sound hoarse or pained, just explained in a steely voice that he was very ill and would not be coming in. His car steered its way to her apartment, and he stared at the light in her window. He wondered if they'd celebrated their four-month anniversary with candles and dancing, wine and soft touches.

His boots scuffed against the sidewalk as he marched toward her door. It couldn't end like this, not before it even started. When she fell asleep on the phone, she whistled a little through her lips, and he needed to know how that felt on the back of his neck. She might not understand, but he'd explain it. He was good at rationalizations.

Grissom was almost to her door when his cell phone rang in his pocket. He slowed, pursing his lips and frowning. There was no way…

"Hello?"

The sobs were back, the ones he could hear coming up from the pit of her stomach, the ones that made his chest ache. "I'm sorry," she whispered, hiccupping a little. "I tried to stop, I'm so sorry."

He cradled the phone to his ear, holding it as reverently as if it were a part of her. "God," he whispered, leaning his head against her door. "Thank god."

"Griss—" Her voice broke, and he couldn't help himself.

"Let me in, Sara."

She sniffled. "What?"

He knocked on the door, hearing her sharp intake of breath. "Please… god, please Sara, please let me in."


	8. VIII

_**Thank you Marlou, for the beta. Thank you Lauren... for putting up with my unhingingness... And thank you readers. I really enjoy that you're all so wonderfully literate.**_

_**

* * *

**_It was as if he could feel her hand on the doorknob before he could hear her turning it. It was some sort of balm to his ears just to hear the acceptance of the metal creaking against the wood. A 'please'; a vacant, hollow and lost 'please' was all it took for her to allow him solace in her presence. 

Upon regarding her for the first time that evening, his heart was torn between imploding upon itself with the sadness etched on her skin and thrumming away in ecstasy for the relief that she held in her eyes.

But there was a stalemate there on the doorstep. She, with tears coursing down her cheeks could not seem to utter the words to allow him access. He, rooted to the spot there, couldn't make the move to pull her into his arms, the only place he ever wanted her to be, ever ever again.

Electricity crackled in the air between them and Grissom was forced forward, nearly sweeping her from her feet with the force of his entrance. She barely had time to kick the door closed before his lips plucked at the skin of her neck, breezing up the freckled the skin to then press his lips against hers lips, moist with lust and so many unspoken words.

"Is this how he kisses you, Sara? Is it?" Grissom took her mouth with force, feeling every cell of her lips against his, pulling, straining, needing to hear the truth. "Does he kiss you like I do, Sara?" His beard was rough on her skin, creating lovely patches of red across her cheeks.

They were on the couch before he could continue and his lips assaulted her in such a wonderful way that she didn't bother wondering what more he wanted to say.

It was a task to draw words from her mouth, so she didn't. Instead, she kissed him back and felt music in her soul, music and alcohol and glitter, glamour, something like love-it was all running through her veins at a type of light speed she chose not to place. Was he about to love her?

No, she was sure that the look in his eyes was eons from love, and yet she succumbed none the less. He'd never, ever see her. Not with the way his eyes were clouded over in that moment. She couldn't ever imagine him seeing her as true with the way he looked in that moment, and yet she didn't stop him.

Angry tears, hot and salty, cascaded down her cheeks. His lips were on her neck, his hands pulling her shirt, up, up, over her stomach, her collarbone, pulling it from her body. Shirtless, tousled and lovely in the dim light pouring from the window, he kissed her with all the passion he had kept, stored and ready, all for her.

His shirt somehow followed hers, their hands working together to rid him of the oppressive fabric. Their bodies were bare in moments and he wondered how he had ever truly done without her warmth surrounding him. A chill scampered out from her open window, but he ignored it. All the warmth he needed was wrapped around him.

It was a task, simply and truly, just to move. Eventually he did, hard and fast and made her yelp so loud that he clamped his hand over her mouth. She, not ready to give in, far from submitting, licked his palm and scraped her teeth against the flesh of his palm.

Sara couldn't help but slowing down the moment in her head. She remembered as he kissed her ear. She saw him answering her questions in seminar, and yes, she felt the rock welling in her throat. Sara saw them on some pier in San Francisco, there were so many; she saw them pecking, pecking and then kissing somehow. That was the one kiss that she ever remembered, because it was so deep and thorough and bordering on the edge of love.

Was there rain? She couldn't remember, but for the sake of romance she imagined there was; she remembered her hair curling and frizzing as he turned to her, speaking of blood or bugs or something, she was sure she wasn't listening; His eyes were so blue then, his hair dark. She, well she felt nothing but an attraction to him, but when he admitted to her that he'd never been in love, never seen the hue of her eyes in anyone else... she was in love too.

Sara recalled so very vividly how he told her that everything was askew, everything was wrong. And then, oh then his lips were on hers and she had to bite back the chuckle... because there were the lights of a carnival in the backdrop and his strangely welcome heat on hers.

He'd spoken to her, something out of Shakespeare and had articulated himself so. He spoke words that she laughed over with her friends because they were so poetic and yet so heartfelt. Was it possible that the words he spoke were real? At that moment in her life, she wished. The kiss had been so, so deep and she wished she'd met him in a bar or somewhere other than a seminar. It would have been easier. She didn't know how but it would have.

A goodbye or two or three (or was it kisses? She didn't remember...) and he was back to Vegas. And two months later back in San Francisco he was kissing her again. He was kissing her and telling her that he had to leave, leave... please let him leave. She was beautiful and he told her over and over but there was something else, something else...

It was both kisses and goodbyes, but she'd left him at the airport with an anonymous goodbye because she'd arrived a minute too late and she'd had to watch him board the plane alone.

Yet she was drawn back to the present, to the press of his lips against hers, begging in their own silent language. Kisses, would they ever amount to what she felt for him? No, she wanted to tell him, she really did. It was impossible, because his eyes held nothing but jealousy and want. If Peter had never wanted her... would he have ever taken her?

Making love on the kitchen floor was much more like them, not on the couch. Not without words.

She worried that he would forget her when it was over but was placated by his lips on her cheeks as he moved into her so delicately. He knew she wasn't delicate but he knew, knew that the moment called for it, for just a moment. He didn't open his eyes and her mouth opened, almost trying to swallow his face in that second, his expression; he wouldn't look at her.

He grasped her hair and urged himself into her with abandon. It wasn't how it was meant to be, they both knew it and neither of them could stop it.

Sara moved beneath him, her body struggling to meet his erratic pace but could not.

A thrumming in her head set up with his pace; a constant 'knock, knock,' a 'bang, bang' and she ignored it for as long as she could. The only thing she wanted to register in her brain was the feel of him, the panting of his breath. The feelings, they were both coming so fast that she had to catalogue them quickly, for fear of forgetting them.

But again, the loud thrumming at her door rang true and she had to pull herself from the exquisite sensations she was receiving from him.

Peter, it was Peter calling out to her. He was claiming he'd called her cell phone, called her home phone, but she hadn't shown up for their date. At that point it was impossible to keep the tears from spilling over again and damn, damn if she didn't want them to continue.

"Sara, Sara, where are you?" It was nearly a plea, but not convincing enough for her to stop. He'd never plow through the door like Grissom would. "I called you!"

Grissom's eyes met hers then, dark and whole and angry. Moving into her with jealous strokes, he held back the tears; there was no time for tears from him. No tears, oh no. There was no sadness after years and years (fifteen? twelve? He couldn't remember because she was so warm...) of wanting, of loving her. He was selfish and didn't deserve her and didn't care at all because Peter was at the door and he was capturing her in the moment.

He was watching the sweat on her temples, seeing the love in her eyes even though she didn't want to betray it.

The pounding resumed. "Sara! I hear something... are you asleep?" And the 'pound, pound, pound" and Peter calling to her as Grissom captured her bottom lip with his teeth there on her ugly sofa and gasped; yes, he gasped and gazed into her eyes, no longer lust but something else she couldn't place if she tried.

Her tongue swallowed the cry that bubbled within her.

Peter called again as she came down from her high, "Sara? Sara, are you in there?"

Grissom, skin and lust, pressed against her hard.

Every fiber of her being strained to connect with his body but she had to push him back; this was for the wrong reason. "Not like this Grissom." Her hair was askew but just barely and he sought to fist his hands into it and pull her lips back to his, draw the name Peter out before she forgot entirely who he was.

And he was off of her, panting. Heated and red, droplets of sweat appearing at his temples. "I need to know Sara. I need to know how he makes you feel." Oh, such a heated whisper, but so perfect. Peter's knocks died away as did his footsteps and they were left alone, lying together: sweat and skin consummated.

Sara moved her face away from his and rubbed her hands on her legs, wanting to just scream, just, just let it all out. "He doesn't."

Grissom screwed his face up, confused and so very hurt.

"He doesn't... make me feel. At all," she admitted to him, the tears drying on her face, making her cheeks feel stiff and emotionless. She wondered if she'd ever feel happy again, real and honest happiness, the desolation clawing at her heart, begging for entrance; she was just about ready to give into it. "Never really made me feel, just... I was pretty and alive for him."

Sara bit her lip and looked at him as he stared back in awe. "And that was enough." It was all too much then and she had to gulp back the sudden words that bubbled up. "I think, you know, I really think that could be enough." A pause, a sob and a gulp. "He uh, he wants to love me and you know, that really could be enough."

It sounded neither like a rejection nor an invitation. Grissom was at a loss, a complete and utter loss for anything: words, actions, emotions, still pressed beside her. Batting at her cheeks with the backs of her hands, she continued on. "I keep stopping and going, you know? And I just think... I keep thinking that if I can make myself love him, I can stop with the constant rewind."

"That's bullshit. That's complete bullshit and you know it."

"Well I'm sorry, but this whole staying behind thing isn't working for me either. Something has to change, and it certainly isn't going to be you." Her voice began to raise in pitch, almost to the point of yelling but not quite there yet. "I call you because I need you; I came here because I need you, but it's a brick wall if you don't need me."

Life was too short to keep crying and she really tried to stop, but her life was in such ordered chaos that she didn't know where 'start' started and where 'end' ended.

"I want you to need me. You don't even get it, I would have changed for you, god... something like this...?" She clipped her sentence and pressed her hands over her eyes, trying to gain control of the thoughts whizzing through her head. "He doesn't make me feel, Grissom. He makes me think, he makes me think of what it would feel like to have you."

He moved back to her, ignoring the bite of the edge of leather into his side. "You have me, here."

"But do I, Grissom, do I?"

He gazed down at her for a moment, unashamed by his nakedness. He grasped her hand and pulled her up hard, so hard.

She was in his arms then, unsure and frightened. He too was frightened, but not unsure. He'd seen her eyes dart off in a certain direction earlier and took her into his arms, kicking off his slacks so he wouldn't trip over them. She didn't get a chance to regard him before he wrapped his arms tightly around her body.

"I want to take you to bed," he said, words harsh and low, his hips grinding into hers.

She sighed and slacked off into his arms, "Do you know where it is?"

"I think I've always known," he replied and kissed the crown of her head and drew her across the hardwood floor towards her bedroom.


	9. IX

**CSINut214's A/N:** _This chapter goes out to Elisa, for reminding me why I got into this in the first place._

* * *

Sara's mind was racing as Grissom carried her to the bedroom. _I should stop this now, before it goes any further. He's doing this for all the wrong reasons. I need to talk to Peter._

She bit her lip at the thought of her new boss. She'd left a message on his home phone earlier that evening; a long, tortured message about how they weren't meant to be. _It's better to end it now_, she'd said. _If we wait too much longer, the breakup could affect our working relationship, and neither of us wants that_. It'd been a chicken-shit way to break up with him, seeing as he'd been on the way to the restaurant at the time.

But Grissom didn't know, couldn't know. Only his wild-eyed jealousy, his unraveled possessiveness had brought them to this point, and she was ashamed, humiliated that she would sink so low as to accept it. Loveless passion, and it might be enough to last her a lifetime. In any case, it would have to be.

He stopped abruptly at the threshold to her room, staring in, transfixed.

"Grissom?"

His grip on her had loosened slightly. He set her down gently on the bed, then turned away.

She breathed his name again, horrified that he was leaving her. But he wasn't, he wasn't. Instead he swiveled around slowly, taking in her bedroom.

This was it, this was where she slept at night. She was wrapped in that navy comforter every time she called him, and she fell asleep with her head on that pillow. He fingered the gauzy curtains with their uneven hems, and wondered if she'd sewn them herself. Did Sara sew?

Grissom moved over to her dresser, running his palm over the surface. Framed photos sat in a neat line. Nick and Warrick playing a video game in the break room. Greg wearing a turban, posing next to a bemused Brass. And a photo of himself, too - bent over with gloved hands, gathering evidence at a crime scene. He picked up the frame, shaking his head slightly. His was the only candid shot, and he knew that if she'd asked him to pose he would have refused. She must have known it too.

There were two framed insects on the wall -- _megistogaster linearis_ and _palamneus fulvipes_. A giant damselfly and a forest scorpion. And he knew, then. Knew without a doubt, and he wept.

She lay on the bed, feeling naked and exposed. "Grissom, what-" She caught sight of the tears. "Hey… hey, come here."

Surely, he thought, surely limbs weren't intended by God to be this long. Expanses of arm and leg, wrapped around him, cradling him as he clung to her.

"I'll leave the lab if you want me to," he said softly, and she stiffened. "I will. I'll leave the lab, and my friends, and Las Vegas, and entomology, and… meat, I'll leave meat behind too. Anything you want. Just don't ever make me leave you."

She stroked his hair, ignoring the fluttering in her chest. "You don't mean that. Your work is your life."

"No," he said, pulling back to gaze at her. His eyes were dark and wet as they searched her face. "No, work's not my life."

Sara watched as he leaned in to kiss her. She closed her eyes, waiting for the demanding onslaught of pushing and probing. It never came. Instead he gently kissed her forehead, her chin, her cheeks, her eyelids. Then he was running his fingers over her collarbone and following the trail with his lips, and she fought the tears back.

"Griss, don't," she begged. "Don't start something you can't stop."

He drew up to look her in the eyes, his expression so intense she fought to breathe. "Why would I have to stop?" he asked. Then he was back at her collarbone, and she couldn't help it. Deep, gut-wrenching sobs escaped her. For what she had, and for what she'd lost.

The sound tore at his heart. Pulling back, he lay next to her, spooning her from behind. "This is what I wanted to do every time you called me crying," he said, smoothing back her hair, kissing her temple. "This is how you should fall asleep every night."

She cried harder. He didn't know what he was saying, what he was implying. Finally, she had to tell him: "I ended it with Peter."

He froze in his motions, just like she'd known he would. He'd be doing the math right about now, realizing that she wasn't a prize to be won anymore. She was just Sara, plain old Sara with the bony knees and thin lips, crazy workaholic time-bomb Sara with the sordid past. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she stared at the wall, waiting.

Grissom's heart rate quickened, and he felt a familiar surge of adrenaline. It reminded him of when he'd gone on the world's tallest roller coaster, only this was stronger. It was the feeling he'd get right before the plunge, that moment where life and death merged into a rush of wind and weightlessness. He leaned close to her ear, tasting fear and life, whispering, "Sara, I'm in love with you."

She sighed, then, a breath she might have been holding for years. "What about the blonde?"

He was kissing the hollow between her neck and shoulder. "We broke up months ago."

"Because she wasn't smart? Wasn't interesting?" The slow scratch of his whiskers tickled her sensitive skin.

"No," he replied slowly. "Because she wasn't you."

She expected him to resume what they'd started on the couch, but he just wrapped his arms around her and lay his cheek against her hair. "Go to sleep, honey," he murmured. "You've had a rough night."

Her whole life, Sara had thought that her hips and ribs and arms and legs were all misshapen, with their oddly placed grooves. Now, as Grissom's arms and legs molded perfectly against her, she had to wonder if they were made for each other. "Hey Griss?"

He hummed sleepily against the crown of her head, sending shivers down her spine.

"You know I love you, right?"

"Course," he said drowsily. "You've got bugs on your wall."

She started to say he wasn't making sense, but then he ran his thumb over her belly button, and she felt his breath on her neck. And she hoped, god, she hoped, that nothing would ever start making sense again.


	10. X

**_Thanks Radish for looking this over and not kicking my ass. And thanks to Dana Scully (GRINNNN) for being my first kick ass female._**

**_

* * *

_**

The morning slipped through her curtains and touched their skin gently, attempting-unsuccessfully-to rouse them from slumber. It seemed to settle back and gaze over them as the sun inched higher in the sky, begging them to wake and yet still, they lay sleeping in her bed.

The orange glow of impending sunset grazed Sara's eyelids and forced them open. She was greeted with the warming sight of Grissom's naked chest, glowing in the light, calling her simply to partake in it. Bending forward, she pressed a small kiss in between his pectorals and lay back against her pillow. It hadn't been enough to rouse him and she was fine with that.

She was content to simply lie beside him and wonder how the hell any of what they'd started would ever work out. The simple thought of the predicament she had allowed herself to fall into spurred the sweat to break out at her temples, caused her mouth to go nearly completely dry.

They needed to talk, really talk; it was essential that they clear the air and get everything off of their respective chests. But there was time for that later, so much time. They had so much time now. There was so much time that she could afford to look him over for a few more minutes. The way the light deepened the shadows under his eyes, but smoothed the lines of his forehead; the way the dying orange light made his skin look so supple, so kissable, so soft; how she knew the light would look so much more beautiful draped over the both of them, just as he was draped over her...

A train wreck would have been slightly less messy compared to their situation. She never said it was easy; then again, she'd never claimed it would be this hard. As Grissom shifted in the bed, haphazardly tossing his arm over her stomach... she forgot to care about the difficulty. His arm felt so right there, pressing against her skin. Perfect wasn't a word she came by easily, but she found it infiltrating her mind.

Fingers wandered over her soft flesh, probing and experimenting. When they made it to the hollow of her belly button once more, he seemed to fall from his dream and back to reality. The stiffness infiltrated his frame for a moment but quickly dissipated as his eyes adjusted.

The tickling of his whiskers again her shoulder was a lovely precursor to the kiss he placed there. Sara fought an inadvertant wave of lust as his hand began to pace back and forth over her abdomen. A deep kiss was placed on the back of her neck and she had to sharply suck in her breath to keep from unhinging.

"Maybe," she began, in lust with the nuance of the entire situation. "Maybe... we should... eat something." Sara attempted to roll off the bed but Grissom held her back, kissing her spine slowly, wetly. "Griss, you uh, you have to be at work... in, oh never mind, six hours." Sara sank back into the warm sheets and allowed him to kiss her a few more times until she hopped from the bed and asked him into the kitchen.

Grissom put on his boxers and met her out there, taking a seat at her kitchen table.

Her back was to him when she spoke. "How do you want your coffee?" Grissom was studying the patterns of butterflies on her robe, not listening at all to what she was saying.

"...yes," he replied, voice distracted.

"What do you mean 'yes,' I just asked you how you want your coffee..." Sara spun on him, empty pot in one hand, spoon in the other. She caught his eyes downcast, looking at her body. Thrills ran through her and her eyes darkened a fraction of a shade.

Tilting her head to the side, she looked at him for a moment. "Grissom, were you looking at my ass?"

"I, what? No! I was looking at.. the butterflies."

"Oh..." She dropped her flushed face in embarrassment, licking her lips and then capturing the bottom one between her teeth as she spun back to face the counter.

Grissom lavished her with his gaze for a few moments and then slipped from his chair and padded over to her, placing his hands on her hips. Both of their hearts started to beat off at an erratic pace. Grissom had to pause for a moment and moisten his lips before speaking, "Do you want me to, Sara?"

Her smile hidden by the veil of her hair, she flushed a bright red and leaned back into him, just a little bit. "Yes..." Sara breathed out a low whisper, carefully placing the coffee pot down on the counter, the spoon following. Grissom's breath tickled her neck just so and her head lolled to the side, allowing his mouth to graze easily over her neck; his hands snaked down and cupped her ass through the worn terrycloth.

Grissoms's hands snaked around to lock around her stomach, holding her tight against him. "I say, we have our coffee, and... whatever else," he mumbled, his warm breath soothing over her ear, "And go back to bed for a while." Despite herself, and despite the nervousness and apprehension she felt in her veins, she found herself smiling.

"And what would we do there?" she asked coyly, chuckling against him.

Grissom promptly leaned down and kissed her neck, where it met her shoulder. "I want to know you, honey. I need to feel you."

Sara turned slowly in his arms and put her hands on his bare chest, glancing up at him with large eyes. "I uh, just wanted to be sure. I mean, I needed to know if-" Grissom bent and kissed her lips softly, but she broke away. "Were you asleep last night?"

He pulled away and stared down at her with wide eyes. When he didn't answer immediately, she began to mumble. "Just, yeah, you sounded sleepy so I didn't know if you heard me and-"

"I love you, Sara." He halted her words with four of his own, tightening his grip around her slender waist.

A lovely blush crept up to her chest, rising to her cheeks. "Well," she said, patting her hand over his heart. "Then I think you should take me back in there," Sara gestured with her head over her shoulder towards the bedroom. "And show me."


	11. XI

Sara stood outside Peter's office, watching him work. His desk was immaculate, with a neat stack of files in his outbox. The walls were adorned with diplomas and a few bland art prints. There were no mounted insects, no tarantulas, no fetal pigs… all things she'd found distasteful until she met Grissom. Now they seemed like the staples of any decent office.

"Sara."

She blinked, finally noticing that he'd looked up. "Hey, Peter."

"Have a seat." His smile was warm as he leaned forward in his chair. "I was hoping you'd stop by."

She sat across from him, twisting her fingers nervously. "I'm so sorry about the other night… I shouldn't have left that message on your voicemail. I should have said it to your face."

"Probably," he agreed mildly.

"I'm really sorry."

"Don't be. It happens."

Sara stared at him in disbelief. "Peter, we were together for four months. You should be furious with me!"

He smiled softly. "I've been around a while. Takes a lot to faze me."

"Was I…" she swallowed. "Did what I said in my message make sense?"

"Absolutely," Peter said earnestly. "To be honest, I appreciated it. I'm almost sixty, Sara. When you get to be my age, time is precious. If you didn't think I was the right guy for you, it was better for you to tell me right away, and not a year from now."

She chewed on her lip.

"You still feel uncomfortable," he noted.

Sara shrugged. "I'm a little concerned about us working together," she said reluctantly.

Peter's eyebrows shot up. "Funny you should say that…" He pulled a file out of a drawer. "Sofia Curtis has put in for a transfer to day shift."

"Really?" Sara sat forward in her chair, intrigued. He smiled at her and then bent down to attend to a paper quickly. "Really, though, Peter, I am sorry if I hurt you at all."

He looked up and his face softened. "I know, darling… no harm, no foul." It was amazing that she had been able to spend that much time with Peter; nice comfortable time, but time in which she was constantly pining for another man. Another man who she now knew loved her to something close to the end of the earth. He'd joked the night before about wanting to love her all the way to the end of the earth, but couldn't since he was a scientist and the earth was round.

She'd promised to flatten it for him if he just kept that promise, pressed him onto his back and proceeded to smooth the globe into a perfectly flat plain.

Sara grinned, remembering the way she had loved him. Peter smiled at her quickly, she smiled back, half-heartedly and said, "You know it wouldn't work out between us, I told you I can't–"

"Swing dance," they said in unison and had a little laugh.

Sara regarded him with kind eyes. "You know, if it had been a jazz club I would have been putty in your hands," she winked, and Peter stuck out his tongue at her.

"Ah, but hindsight is always 20/20... isn't it?"

"That it is."

Again, he picked up his pen and was down to business. "So, Sofia Curtis wants days... do you want back on night shift or should I move things around?" Peter began rearranging the files on his desk and pulling the ones he needed.

Honestly, Sara didn't really care, it didn't much matter now. "I'll go back on night shift if it's easier. Really… whatever's easier." The idea of working alongside Grissom again did appeal to her, even if it would make their burgeoning relationship more complicated.

"Should I take Curtis?" Peter paused and addressed her seriously. "I know she used to be the head of day shift, and I'm not so sure how that would work..."

Sara thought it over. "Well she _requested_ the transfer so she must have thought the ramifications through. And… you know… she's a dedicated investigator, I just… don't get along with her."

"Sara, from what I can gather, you don't get along with a lot of people," Peter said good-naturedly.

She stood up and clapped her hands together. "So _maybe_ that's true," she stated with a smile and went to leave the office. Pausing at the door, she turned to look at him. "You coming to give me my last assignment, boss, or should I take the evening off?"

Peter looked up at her, a wry grin plastered on his face. "Get your ass to the break room, Sidle, there's a 419 with your name on it."

* * *

She walked up the front steps slowly, running her hand over the freshly painted banister, admiring the new mounted mailbox with Grissom/Sidle stenciled on the side. Domesticity had its appeal. 

"Hey," he called from the couch as she walked in the door, laden with grocery bags. "I was getting worried… weren't you just running out for milk?"

She nodded, putting a carton into the refrigerator. "I ran into Peter in the parking lot. He was there with his fiancée."

"You're kidding." Grissom walked over to plant a kiss on her cheek. "I didn't know he was engaged. Anybody we know?"

"Yeah, actually," she replied, raising her eyebrows. "Allison Freeman."

He blinked. "You… you're kidding."

"Of course I'm kidding, how weird would _that_ have been? It's some woman he met at his racquetball center. She seems nice."

He clasped her shoulders under his thick palms and kissed her neck. It was a taste he'd shown no signs of tiring of, even after eight months. "Peter probably cries himself to sleep every night, thinking about you."

"You're terrible," she smirked, pushing him away. "He actually was really sweet… he said he hopes I find someone who will make him as happy as Pandy makes him."

Grissom tried. Really, he did. He clenched his teeth and wrinkled his nose and curled his tongue. But the laugh escaped anyway. "Pandy?"

She smiled back at him – the wide, gap-toothed grin that made his heart stop beating twenty times a day. His cardiologist would have a fit if he knew.

"So do I?"

Sara kissed the underside of his chin. "Do you what?"

"Do I make you as happy as Pandy makes him?"

Sara smirked and began pulling items out of the grocery bags. "Nah."

Grissom chuckled, knowing she was poking fun at him. "Nah?"

"Well, think about your names alone." Sara spun around, raising an eyebrow and cocking her head back and forth. "Pandy… Gil… yeah, no contest." Turning back around to the counter, she threw over her shoulder, "Gil just isn't as fun to say."

He wandered over behind her and placed his hands on her hips possessively. "You're right, it isn't as fun to say... I like it better when you moan it."

"Gee, somebody's full of himself," Sara laughed, pulling away from him to put a loaf of bread in a drawer.

Grissom leaned against the counter, watching her putter about, putting things away and pulling things out. He watched her, a warmth in his chest that he hoped would never leave.

Sara paused en route to the pantry to look at him. "What?" she asked cautiously, ambling towards him sideways. He snatched her into his arms so that she dropped the box of cereal she'd been carrying. Feigning annoyance, she blew a breath of air out, ruffling her hair a bit, doing nothing for the wanton gleam in her eyes.

"Just thinking how sad I am for almost missing out on this..." he said, trailing kisses behind her ear.

Sara giggled and sunk her body into his. "Yeah but lucky for us, you have great peripheral vision. You just had to... circumvent a few roadblocks to finally see."

His lips were about to land on hers but he had to pull back and chuckled. "You said circumvent."

"It's part of my charm," she muttered before pulling his lips to hers in a heated kiss.

The End

_**

* * *

Leslie's A/N:** Must say... was such a blast to write. The phone convos about the route this fic would take were just too funny. It's so sad that we're not stopping here. There will be more stories, possibly more WIPs... and you will all have to suffer because it was simply too fun to work with Radish. _

_**CSINut214's A/N:** I'm actually going to be taking a break from writing for a bit… but I'll be back at some point, no worries. Ten points to the first person to figure out who wrote which parts of this chapter. And those points are redeemable for Ben and Jerry's fro-yo, yum!_


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